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The production team of Infinite Death wasn’t exactly well-funded. They wanted to attract some investment through celebrity star power, so instead of giving the script to just one person like Shi Fei, they cast their net wide, sending scripts to nearly half the popular stars in the industry and inviting them to audition.

Although Shi Fei had music works under his belt, he hadn’t achieved much in the acting world.

The director, perhaps with some ambition to make a quality show, gave all the small roles to those traffic stars who only had popularity but no acting skills—roles like Male Lead 5, 6, 7, or 8.

It was mostly to borrow some of their fame to attract investors, and later, when the series was released, to leverage those celebrities’ fan bases for hype.

But generally, big-name stars wouldn’t lower themselves to audition for some “male supporting role #whatever.” It would hurt their image. Even the lead role of such a low-budget suspense drama was something they had to carefully consider—let alone with a modest paycheck.

For today’s auditions, the director had rented a cheap office building.

Shi Fei wore a light-blue long-sleeved sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, topped with a black baseball cap and a black mask covering his face.

As soon as he walked in, he realized—he had shown up in the same outfit as others.

There were over thirty people here for the audition, and at least four or five were wearing the exact same hoodie.

Shu Fei was extremely popular, especially after his album’s explosive success. With talent and hit works, he was arguably the most popular top-tier star in the industry right now.

More importantly, he wasn’t a one-trick pony; his talents were so numerous they couldn’t even be counted on two hands. Many young people saw him as a role model, and even teachers used him as an example to motivate students.

He had not only female fans but also a massive male fan base.

 

Anyone who knew even a little about him was aware that his clothing style leaned toward comfort. With his looks and physique, he didn’t need to fuss about fashion. Most of the paparazzi shots of him showed him in sweatshirts.

Naturally, many fans imitated their idol’s style, buying the exact same clothes.

That explained why he was seeing so many people in the same hoodie today.

When he entered, no one paid him much attention. Everyone probably assumed he was just another Shi Fei fan.

Shi Fei pressed down on his cap brim and quietly found a corner seat. He observed the others first.

There were more people auditioning than he expected. Most were unknown actors, with quite a few still in art school. A handful looked vaguely familiar, they had probably played some minor roles before. Still, even they had three or four people crowding around them, hoping to glean some acting advice.

Lowering his head, Shi Fei pulled out the script he’d been holding and began running through the scene he would need to perform later.

Just then, a commotion broke out.

Shi Fei looked up to see a man in a loud floral shirt swaggering into the room. Despite being indoors, he wore sunglasses.

Shi Fei recognized him at a glance—Wang Yuanzhi.

That guy didn’t bother hiding his identity, greeting the room with a bright smile:

“You’re all here so early. I thought I was the early one.”

Wang Yuanzhi might have only been a third-tier celebrity whose fame was fading, but compared to most of the people here, he was still miles ahead in recognition.

From the moment he walked in, a group gathered around him, eager to curry favor.

After a bit of small talk, someone asked curiously:

“Teacher Wang, why are you here auditioning too?”

Wang Yuanzhi took off his sunglasses and smiled.

“I’ve always been interested in acting. I’ve shown up in a few TV dramas before, and this time, I really liked the script. Since the production team sent me an invitation, I thought I’d give it a try.”

Someone asked curiously, “But for a well-known artist like Teacher Wang, aren’t the roles usually pre-assigned? Do you even need to audition?”

From the looks of him, that person was clearly still a student—blunt and inexperienced. His unintentional remark almost embarrassed Wang Yuanzhi on the spot.

Shi Fei clearly saw the slight change in Wáng Yuánzhì’s expression, but the man quickly covered it up:

“The director already reserved a role for me. I just personally wanted to come see things in person. After all, I need to know who my scene partners will be.”

Anyway, he was the most popular star here. A little white lie like that—what, did they think the director would come out and expose him?

Someone else wanted to ask more, but Wang Yuanzhu gave his assistant a look. The assistant instantly caught on and said:

“Sorry, our Teacher Wang needs to prepare for his audition. Everyone, please go focus on your own preparation.”

Since he was basically shooing them away, the others felt awkward lingering and slowly dispersed.

Before Shu Fei could retract his gaze, he noticed Wang Yuanzhi walking in his direction.

Moments later, he sensed another presence beside him.

From what Shi Fei knew, Wang Yuanzhi was the kind who liked being in the spotlight, so it was surprising he chose a corner seat next to him. Maybe he’d felt embarrassed earlier and wanted to lay low for now.

But then he heard Wang Yuanzhi muttering softly to his assistant,

“This director invited me here, and he didn’t even prepare a private lounge. So insincere. And look at these people auditioning—crooked melons and cracked dates, they don’t even realize what trash they are. Newbies are just newbies—no tact, no EQ. People like that will never amount to anything.”

The assistant tried to soothe him:

“Don’t be upset, Teacher Wang. Once you pass the audition, we’ll make sure the director gives you a private lounge.”

Behind his mask, Shi Fei’s mouth curled slightly. As expected, he had underestimated Wang Yuanzhi. That man’s arrogance was even worse than he thought.

“What are you laughing at?” Wang Yuanzhi snapped. He was already in a foul mood. He hadn’t received the warm welcome he expected, had nearly been embarrassed by a rookie, and now—sitting in the corner—he caught someone laughing at him. His temper was like a firecracker ready to go off.

Shi Fei was baffled—how did Wang Yuanzhi even notice? He hadn’t taken off his mask, he had a cap on, and his head was lowered.

Shi Fei said calmly, “I wasn’t laughing.”

“I clearly heard you laugh just now. Now you won’t even admit it? Can’t own up to what you do?”

“…Fine. I laughed,” Shi Fei admitted.

“You—!” Wang Yuanzhi’s anger flared.

Shi Fei countered lightly, “What, is laughing illegal now?”

Wang Yuanzhi’s assistant immediately jumped in, furious on his boss’s behalf.

“You—how dare you—”

His voice was loud, and it instantly drew the attention of people nearby.

Shi Fei kindly reminded, “There are so many people around. Better save some face for your Teacher Wang.”

Wang Yuanzhi quickly tugged his assistant back. Seeing the onlookers’ gazes scatter, he ground his teeth and hissed in a low voice:

“Newcomers these days really have no manners. I’m still your senior, at least.”

Shi Fei replied evenly, “Sorry, that’s just how rude I am. Since you’re the senior, why not be magnanimous and let me, the junior, off the hook?”

A perfect, effortless comeback.

Wang Yuanzhi glanced at the crowd. As a so-called senior, he felt he shouldn’t stoop to bickering with such a rude junior, but being slapped down like that left him fuming, unable to swallow his pride.

Then he noticed the clothes the other was wearing and found him even more annoying.

“Judging from your outfit, your idol must be Shi Fei, huh? You have no taste at all. Figures—like idol, like fan.”

Shu Fei: “…”

So now he was taking a hit lying down?

Seeing that Shi Fei didn’t snap back, Wang Yuanzhi assumed he’d won. His face showed a flicker of smugness.

“Even your voice sounds like his—equally grating.”

Shi Fei asked quietly, “Why’s it so quiet around you today? Didn’t hire a few fans to come cheer you on and boost your image?”

“You’re spouting nonsense! Those were all rumors cooked up by reporters chasing clicks. Why would I ever pay for fans? That day, those people were my real fans—they just mistook someone else for me for a moment, that’s all.”

Back when he’d spent money on fans to stage an airport pickup, it had just so happened Shi Fei was there too. The paid fans ran straight toward Shi Fei instead, leaving him embarrassed. Reporters had covered it relentlessly, ruining his reputation and even costing him a brand deal in the middle of a feud with a rival.

Ever since, Shi Fei had topped his blacklist. So when he spotted someone copying Shi Fei’s fashion style, he immediately pounced on the chance to find fault.

Shi Fei replied, “Oh? Funny, because your fans told me their favorite is me.”

The words made Wang Yuanzhi freeze. Shi Fei finally lifted his head, his clear eyes locking directly onto him.

“What a coincidence. We meet again, Wang Yuanzhi.”

Wang Yuanzhi let out a hiccup, startled by the sight. Even with the mask still on, he recognized him instantly—those eyes, that presence.

Just earlier, he’d said this guy’s voice was annoyingly similar to that guy’s. Turns out it really was the one he hated most.

A chill ran down Wang Yuanzhi’s spine—not from cold, but from dread. Every time he ran into Shi Fei, nothing good ever came of it. Was a disaster about to strike again?

In the past couple of years, his company hadn’t prioritized him. His popularity was already sliding, and with the design contest fiasco and the airport “fan hire” scandal, his reputation had taken another plunge. Usually, his company might’ve done some PR damage control, but lately they’d been in hot water themselves. They certainly weren’t going to waste resources on him—and much of that was thanks to the person standing in front of him.

Since his singing career was stalled, he’d decided to pivot toward acting. One hit drama could revive his fame faster than releasing a song.

But just his luck—he had to run into Shi Fei again. Every time he did, it spelled trouble.

This man was toxic. Wang Yuanzhi knew he couldn’t win against him, so he decided to keep his distance.

Shi Fei watched with amusement as the other scooted away as though avoiding a plague, shifting several seats over until there was a whole meter between them.

Then Wang Yuanzhi glanced at the script in Shi Fei’s hands. With a slightly haughty air, he reached out to his assistant.

“Give me my script.”

Hmph. So what if Shí Fēi was good at singing? Singing and acting were two completely different worlds. Acting depended on talent.

Compared to him, Wang Yuanzhi had already acted in several dramas. Directors always praised him as “promising.” Beating a rookie like Shí Fēi? That would be too easy.

Today, he’d take back every ounce of face he’d lost before.

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